Happy Hajj, Stephanie Plum!
by nomadic725
Summary: How can Stephanie take down an enemy that could outsmart Ranger? Who will win? Ranger, Asji, or the Soup?
1. Chapter 1: Just Another Tuesday

Today was Tuesday. I liked Tuesdays. They meant that you survived Monday. I didn't like Wednesdays or Thursdays because that meant that the week was only half over, and, although a Tuesday is no Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, it beat Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday any day.

Connie handed over a new file to me as soon as my sneakers hit Vincent Bonds property.

"Muhammad Delad. Don't have a clue why Ranger didn't take this one. But the deadline is coming up soon."

To be honest, I hadn't seen Ranger in a while. He did that, though. He flew off with the wind.

I took the file from her and scanned it. Inside held a picture of an Arab-looking boy who looked much younger than his twenty five years of age. I froze when I saw his crime.

"Attempted a suicide bomb?" I squeaked.

"Yep."

"And Vinnie got him out on _bail?"_

"Yep."

We all knew Vinnie could do miraculous things when money was involved. I took a moment of silence to admire the man's ability to do the impossible when something was to be gained. Vinnie had never been one of my favorite people, but you've got to be impressed by someone who can get a suicide bomber out on bond.

I was torn. It was the only FTA available and I really needed the rent money. But I also really didn't want to get involved with Mr. Muhammad.

Sighing, not wanting to give up without a try, I rolled out in the Buick to see what I could do. Besides, that man is worth more money than every skip I had ever captured combined.


	2. Chapter 2: The Twerp in the Elevator

Muhammad Delad lived in a small apartment in a building called Pine Flats. Why it sported such a name was a mystery. There were no pine trees anywhere near here. His place was on the third floor.

I reached the elevator and pressed the button. I waited. Nothing.

I pressed it again.

Nothing.

Growing irritated, I stormed up the stairs. I was only wheezing slightly when I reached the third floor, thank you very much.

Apartment 37. Apartment 37. I this repeated in my mind. I trooped down the white washed corridor and knocked on the dark wooden door.

There was no sound. I knocked again.

He must have hopped on a plane back to Pakistan.

I turned on my heal, not knowing if I was relieved that I didn't have to deal with a terrorist, or disappointed that I had no rent money. I gave a longing glance toward the elevator doors. There hung a sign that said in handwritten sharpie, "Out of Order."

My phone chirped and the caller ID told me it was Morelli.

"Joe?"

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

. . .

"Okay, go ahead. . . ?"

"I kinda wanted to talk to you in private."

"Is it urgent?"

"Well, it might be to you."

I paused. He was using that strange tone that told me it was _very_ urgent to me.

"Tell me now!" I demanded, worried. Was it my mother? Did she finally have a heart attack because of my job? Did Grandma Mazur finally snuff it, courtesy of my dad? Or did Rex eat a bad grape and. . . and. . .

"It's Manoso."

Whoa, didn't expect that one coming. Ranger? I could have sworn it was the Grandma Mazur scenario.

"What about him?"

"He's kinda been missing."

Morelli paused as if waiting for the blow. Sorry to disappoint, but that blow would never come. Ranger's. . .well Ranger. He's Batman. In fact, he may be better than Batman. Honestly, I wasn't concerned, or even surprised, really. Ranger disappeared all the time. The first couple of episodes, well yeah I freaked out. After the seven-hundred and twenty-second time, though, I just accepted it and waited until he came back.

Well, I wasn't concerned until Morelli finished.

"For a month."

Now that I thought about it, I hadn't seen Ranger in about that time, give or take a few days.

Guilt filled me. I am the most horrible, worst, self-centered friend on the face of this earth. I really didn't notice his disappearance. . .I just thought it was him ignoring me. Not something I wasn't used to. But I should have at least called! At least asked Tank about him! Tank was always around with Lula and I didn't ever think to ask him about his boss.

Alright, that wasn't entirely true. I was just too proud to ask. But that still didn't excuse it! And honestly it wasn't much better!

"Steph? Earth to Steph!"

Oh, right.

"You have no idea where he is? Where he was going? And he's been gone for a _month? _And you guys have done _nothing?"_

Morelli sighed. "That's about right, Cupcake."

I cussed.

"Can I—," I stopped. I was facing two dark, almost black, brown eyes staring at me.

Muhammad stared out at me from inside the elevator's chrome doors.

So the elevator wasn't out of order.

My gun was at home in my cookie jar, and the rest of my gear deep in my shoulder bag. I armed myself with words instead.

"Muhammad Delad?" I asked. The man said nothing but I was certain that this was him.

"You are in violation of your bond agreement. I need to take you in to reschedule."

I saw his arm reach out, then _pop!_ he pressed a button and was gone. I ran toward the elevator and pressed the little down arrow at least a hundred times before finally giving up and walking out toward Big Blue.

I trooped into the office, slamming the door on my foot and cussing in the process.

"Any luck?" Connie had no need to look up from her nails. She knew Stephanie Plum was in the house.

"The twerp disappeared down an elevator shaft. And Ranger's gone missing."  
"Ranger?" she asked looking up. I relayed the conversation between me and Morelli and then the brief encounter with Muhammad.

Ranger's gone, a bomber is on the loose, I found out that I am slower than a couple of elevator doors, and I have no rent money. Who am I kidding? Tuesdays suck.


	3. Chapter 3: The Big, Black Bat

After a showcase of my favorite and most inspiring movie of all time, I dropped a crumbled up cracker into Rex's cage and headed off to sleep. I felt the smooth sheets cover me, and I was in a physical bliss. The same could not be said for my mentality.

I should probably be worried about Ranger, but I wasn't. If there was one thing I knew, it was that man could hold his own. Right?

I chewed on my lip in thought. Then my mind followed the little mental yellow brick road to Muhammad. What was he doing, hanging out in an elevator? Hiding from bounty hunters? It didn't seem likely. From past experience, I knew that people were generally surprised to learn that their local friendly neighborhood bail bonds agency siced a bounty hunter on them.

I heard a small sound, like a moan. Then it grew louder. It almost sounded like a hurt dog.

I sat in bed debating. The dog could seriously need help. Or, the dog could have rabies and be extremely dangerous. The moaning died, and, deciding that the dog must have moved on, even though I had no idea how it got in the corridor in the first place, I drifted off to dreamland.

Come morning, I decided I must have dreamed about the dog. I also decided to celebrate the fact that no dog was hurt and I was alive and not mulled by a tramp. I made my mind up to go out and get some donuts. I began to leave, when the door hit something big in the hallway. The dog sound was made again. I peeked around the corner.

My heart was launched up into my throat. "Ranger?" My voice was an octave higher than usual.

Ranger was sprawled out on the floor, clothes torn and bloody. I squeezed through the small opening in the door and knelt beside him. His face was bruised. He had two black eyes and his nose was bent at an awful angle. He must have impacted something, and hard.

Ranger's clothes that once clung over his back were gone. Instead there was a big, gaping hole that reveled burnt and scarred skin.

Please, oh please, don't be dead! I kept thinking. I was such a horrible friend. I would never forgive myself for this. I wasn't worried, and look what happened! It was all my fault!

"Ranger!" I cried, finding my voice.

One dark eye of his opened. "Babe," he murmured. Then the eye closed again.

I set to the task of dragging him into my apartment. I ended up rolling him into my bedroom. I decided that I should let him have my bed. I had to make up for being such an awful friend somehow. Why hadn't I just looked outside last night? I'm such an idiot!

With that thought, I was able to heave half of Ranger up onto the bed. Then the second half. I had no idea where I had found the strength to do it. Ranger isn't exactly Mooner and I'm not exactly Mary Maggie the Mud Wrestler.

"I'll go call 911, okay?" I told him and began to dash to the kitchen.

"No!" he called after me. I stopped, dead in my tracks.

"What do you mean no? You can't even stand!"

I had walked over to his bedside.

"No one can know that I am alive, alright Babe? I just want it to be you and Tank."

"Tank knows about this?"

"No, but he will after you call him."

I turned then ventured to roll my eyes. "Yeah, I'll go do that right now."

I think we both knew that my intent was to call the hospital.

"Stephanie—please."

I turned. He didn't use my name. It just didn't happen. Just like I never used his. I was Babe and he was Ranger. Bombshell and Batman.

His eyes bore into mine. They were mesmerizing, controlling, but what bothered me most was that he used my name.

A thought occurred to me. He was really serious. It was very important that he wasn't found.

I called Tank.

"Yo, Bombshell."

"Yo, yourself. I have a situation over here."

"Oh?"

I wasn't sure if I should be worried about being overheard from a bad guy. I still didn't know how serious this was. But _Ranger_ in that condition. . .I didn't know anyone who could put Ranger in a condition like that. It must be serious.

"A bat flew into my apartment."

Tank was silent on the other end.

"I think you just _might_ know this particular bat. Anyway, this said bat has a few broken wings and I have no clue what to do. The bat refuses to go to a vet."

"Be there soon." Tank disconnected.

Well, don't waste any breath for words on my account.


	4. Chapter 4: How to Fix a Broken Nose

I was alone with a broken up and bloody Ranger. What do you do for someone like that?

When I felt bad, my mother always made me chicken noodle soup.

I trooped off to the kitchen and opened a can. I poured the contents in a bowl, heated it up, and dug a spoon out of a drawer.

"Hey Ranger?"

"Mmmm."

"Eat this."

"Pass."

"Oh come on, your body can't become a more beat up temple."

He chose to ignore my comment. Smart man.

I sat beside him. His handsome face was contorted with pain and crusty with dried blood. Once again, I thought I was an awful friend.

He didn't have to know this, though.

"I missed you," I told him sweetly.

"Mmmm."

I stuck the spoon in the soup and then put it in Ranger's mouth. At first, he refused it. Then, after he figured out that if he didn't eat it, he was about to become a very wet man, and that for once in my life I could overpower him, he started eating it.

He could finally open his eyes when Tank walked in.

"In here!" I called.

Tank's form emerged.

"How is he?"

When he saw him, I didn't have to answer.

A string of cuss words spilled from his lips.

"That's what I thought, too," I sighed.

"Well?" Tank looked at Ranger expectantly.

Ranger looked at him for a moment, then choked out, "Bomb." He paused, as if gathering up more strength. "New kind. Car trackers couldn't sense."

"Where have you been for the past month?" I asked.

Tank answered. "He was on a mission to bring down as suicide bomber."

My heart froze in my chest. "Muhammad Delad?"

"No, Asji Ali."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I was. . . captured. . . Held for ransom. . . Killed my partner. . . Almost killed me. . . Got away in a car. . . Rescued by someone. . . Will never know his name."

I felt a horrible remorse for the rescuer that gave his life for my friend.

Ranger didn't seem to want to talk about it anymore than what he had to. We sat there in silence for a while, processing this.

I heard scraping on the front door. Tank tried to tell me to stay in here with Ranger, but I refused. After a short little war, I won. Good thing too, because it was Morelli who broke into my apartment.

I had to get rid of him.

"Why do you always do that!" I tried to act as angry as possible.

Morelli looked stunned and confused.

"You people are always breaking and entering! I thought that was illegal! Go arrest yourself!"

I felt bad for yelling at Morelli. Really bad. But right now I had to make things up to Ranger. Morelli's cop face entered his features.

"GET OUT!" I yelled at him. Then I added, "And don't come back until you learn how to knock!"

Morelli said no word, but turned on his heal and strode out of the room, down the hallway, and took the stairs. I watched him from my window get into his car and drive off.

What did I just do? Poor Morelli. How could I do that to him? I wouldn't blame him if he never spoke to me again.

Then I remembered why I had to say what I did.

When I ambled back into my bedroom, Ranger was chuckling softly to himself.

Well good. At least he got the full package for the price I paid. I shot him a glare.

"Babe."

"Don't 'Babe' me," I snapped. This caused his grin to seep into his face wider, making the blood that dried on his face crack. If he wasn't such a sorry sight, I would have been very grossed out by this.

Tank noticed this too. "I hate to kick you out of your own apartment, Bombshell, but I should probably help Ranger get some of this blood off. Mind if we use your shower?"

"I will give you no more than an hour."

"Agreed."

I tried to maybe get some luck on the Muhammad case. I went back to the apartment complex and, this time, tried the elevator first.

No luck.

He wasn't in his apartment either.

Figures.

A thought struck me as I began driving home. Ranger had no clothes but the torn up ones.

I drove to the mall and entered through the main entrance. I located Macy's and went straight to the men's department so as not to me tempted by shoe sales.

I scooped up a large Hanes black t-shirt and some of those men plaid pajama pants. I knew that Ranger was probably going to be in bed for a while. I went with the sizes that looked like they would fit him.

Though it made my face turn red, I grabbed a box of men's briefs before I checked out too. My purchase earned me a look from the cashier man.

When I got home, Tank and Ranger were still in the bathroom.

"Hey!" I called.

"We have a dilemma," Tank's voice rang back.

"Step ahead of you."

They didn't lock the door. I opened it enough to shove the clothes at them, but made a point to look at Rex's cage instead of inside the bathroom.

"You're a lifesaver, Bombshell."

I went out to Seven Eleven like I had originally planned. Ranger couldn't stand, so I didn't see him getting into the clothes any time soon.

I hated driving though. Driving let your mind wander free to things you really didn't want to think about, like screaming at your boyfriend and hurting him.

I bought a dozen donuts and then drove slowly back into my apartment's parking lot. I took the stairs because it was slower, and I needed a head start on working off all the donuts I was going to eat.

I entered just as Tank was stumbling out with Ranger.

Ranger did in fact look considerably better. His nose was still at an odd angle, and he still had two puffy black eyes, but other than that, he looked alright.

I hoped he really _was_ alright.

Tank had the ESP thing going too. He took me into the other room to talk.

"He's okay."

I breathed out a sigh of relief I didn't know I was holding.

"His nose is very broken, and so is his right ankle along with two of his fingers and three ribs."

That didn't sound okay.

"What's really damaged is his pride. You weren't his first choice, but he couldn't make it to Rangeman in his state."

"Huh?"

"He was humiliated, you know. He wants to always be the hero in your eyes."

Tank's lips twitched into a grin. I sat there like a confused idiot, then grabbed my laptop. Tank gave me a questioning look.

"Well, if Batman doesn't want to go to the hospital, than I guess we will just have to find a way to set his nose back ourselves!" I said this very loudly so that I was sure Ranger could hear it. Be afraid, Ranger, be very afraid.

I typed 'how to repair a broken nose' in Google. I clicked on the ehow web search.

"What's it say?"

"It says to haul his butt to the hospital."

I tried another one. WebMD. "Says to get him some kind of fancy surgery."

After about thirty more search results, Tank finally said, "Well, we have to do it soon, or it will heal like it is now."

So we set to work. I gave Ranger perhaps more pain medication than recommended and we set to work.

Tank would ask for stuff and I would get it.

"Ruler."

I ran and got a ruler. He broke two small pieces off of it and taped them to either side of Ranger's nose.

"Cold compress."

I took off for a plastic bag and some ice.

He taped that on there too.

"Tissues."

Blood was starting to come out of Ranger's nose again. I handed him a box of tissues.

Once we did all that we could do, it was ten fifteen, and I was tired.

"We should leave it like that all night. Let's hope he doesn't move," Tank told me.

I nodded. "Would you like to stay?"

I was surprised I had actually asked this. However, I could see in his eyes that Tank was very concerned about Ranger. I knew why. They were best friends. If Mary Lou was broken in a bed, I wouldn't leave her side.

"You can have the couch," I told him. "Sorry that there is no guest bedroom."

"Were will you sleep?"

I could go to my parents, or Mary Lou's or Valerie's, but I couldn't leave Ranger. He was my friend too.

"In the new sleeping bag I just bought. I have been dying to try it out, anyway."

Okay, lame excuse. No need to mention that my sleeping bag is from when I took a girl scout trip in the seventh grade.

Tank smirked. I guessed that was a yes.


	5. Chapter 5: Soup Loop

When I woke up the next morning, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going to find out more about Muhammad, than apologize to Morelli and make up a lame excuse about Rex getting sick and me being in hysterics.

Tank sat at my counter, supposedly calling in sick to Rangeman. I sauntered into my bedroom and gazed at Ranger. He was asleep, and would actually look peaceful if there wasn't about three bucket-fulls worth of random junk stuck to his nose. I ran my finger along the bridge, which was exposed. It was going to heal crooked, that I knew. Tank and I couldn't find anything to do about it.

A small smile crept into his lips.

"Babe."

"Do you need anything?"

"I might _want_ something."

Oh boy.

"How about some more soup?" I asked

"No!"He looked actually panicked.

"Well, I'm off to catch a skip then."

As I left, I could have sworn I heard him mutter, "Can't run forever, Babe."


	6. Chapter 6: The Three Stooges

Tank stayed with us that week. I had no luck with Muhammad, and the deadline was coming up. Needles to say, Vinnie was in hysterics. I tried to apologize to Morelli five times, but he was never home, or at least, didn't answer the door.

I hoped it wasn't the second option.

Morelli also didn't answer his phone. At first, I just thought he saw my name on the caller ID, but then I got smart and called from a payphone.

No answer.

This began to worry me. Now I had two men in my life to worry about.

Make that three.

Tank went out to the pharmacy, Ranger was asleep, and I was coming back from another fruitless attempt to call Morelli from a payphone. As soon as I opened the door, I saw a head of long, blond hair lounging in my couch.

_"Diesel?"_

Oh, seriously?

"Hey!" he called, never looking up from the TV screen. "Playing doctor?"

Crap. Diesel only came around at bad times.

"Hey, I think this is a pretty good time to come around."

Oh, he can read minds too.

He turned his head toward me and grinned.

"I got him conscious. Ever find out what those wounds were from?" Diesel inquired.

"Bomb," I muttered as I passed him. Ranger had been only about half conscious the entire week. How did Diesel. . .?

"Trade secret."

I nearly took the door off the hinges as I stormed the room. Ranger was, in fact, awake. And also sitting up and eating a salad.

Figures.

"So. . . that's Diesel?"

"Yeah," I replied. I had forgotten that they had never truly been within ten feet of each other. I looked Ranger over. The stuff on his nose had been removed; his swellings over his eyes had gone down considerably.

"What did you do?" I called to Diesel. I was grinning. He had not shown signs of healing in so long.

"Magic."

Ranger was sitting up—he could sit up now!—and placed the salad bowl on the nightstand. He started to attempt to get out of bed, but I pushed him back down.

"Babe."

"You can't go back to the bat cave yet. Besides, I thought you just wanted Tank and I to know that you are alive."

"I do, but. . ."

I cut him off. "Then stay here. I'm sure you're still too weak to avoid soup getting shoved down your throat."

"You're cruel, Babe."

At the soup threat, Ranger lay back down and stared at the ceiling. His dark eyes were flashing with new emotions I couldn't decipher. I didn't trust him.

It never crossed my mind that I would have to treat Ranger like a child. Usually, it is the other way around. Ranger was always so strong and never so venerable. Really, where in any comic book does the damsel have to save Batman?

He looked so bored. I wanted to give him _something_ to do.

I handed him a National Geographic magazine.

He looked at me like I was crazy.

"Look, that's as good as it's going to get."

Ranger shrugged. He opened it, I assume just to humor me.

I sauntered over to the kitchen and ate some microwavable lasagna. Diesel had ignored me. I assumed that meant that he already ate.

"Don't let anyone kill Ranger," I said to him as I headed out the door. "I need to go check on a skip."

"Muhammad Delad?"

"How?" Hey, what do you know? I'm mastering the one word language too!

Diesel made up a quick excuse about the file being open. The file was in my bag and never came out, as far as I knew.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you, my oversized friend, are watching the sick guy who looks like he's going to jump ship as soon as I'm out of here."

"Oversized?"

"Stay!" I commanded. Then I ran out the door, down the elevator, and sprinted through the parking lot to the Buick before Diesel could say another word.

"How?" I muttered when Diesel suddenly _poofed_ out of thin air and leaned over the hood to prevent me from leaving.

I saw his lips form the words, "You're not going after him."

I sighed and got out of the car, guarding my thoughts. I had a plan, but it would be no use if he knew it, too.

He dragged me back to my apartment. When we entered, Ranger was crawling toward the door. He was halfway through the TV room.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He sighed then lowered his body toward the ground in defeat.

"If I get him back where he belongs, you won't go running off, will you?" Diesel turned to me.

"Bounty Hunter's Honor."

I would run off when it's less obvious.

Crap, I hope he didn't hear that.

Diesel lifted Ranger effortlessly. Ranger did look a lot smaller than usual. Almost half starved. He needed more chicken noodle soup.

After he was settled, Diesel settled himself into the couch with me next to him. After a football game and a half, I stood up.

I was concentrating on Ranger. Ranger. Ranger. Ranger.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To see Ranger. He might be hungry."

"I'll come."

"I'd prefer to go alone."

My thoughts were concentrated on him and him alone.

I moved toward the bedroom. I got lucky. Ranger was asleep. I carefully climbed out onto the fire escape and kept thinking _Ranger, Ranger, Ranger._

Okay, this was a little eccentric, but I do _not _give up my freedom.

I heard the TV switch off.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I mean, Ranger, Ranger, Ranger.

I climbed down with more haste, probably making things worse for myself because of the racket I was making.

I had landed by the time Diesel looked out the window. He stared at me and I stared back. We glared at each other for a full minute before Diesel dashed toward my front door.

I jumped into the Buick, feeling nervous but happy. Take that, Diesel. I can outsmart your little mind reading ways.

When I entered Pine Flats, I saw the familiar "Out of Order" sign hung on the elevator's chrome doors. I pressed the button anyway.

Creepy bomber wants to hide in an elevator. Creepy bomber has to eat and pee sometime.

I got lucky. The elevator doors parted, and, for the first time, I was able to enter.

The elevator was gross. It had scorch marks on the white walls and food stuck in every corner. No creepy bomber.

I entered, quite to my displeasure. The elevator buttons were written on, but they were written on in Arabic.

Too bad I can't read Arabic, huh?

I selected the third one. The elevator shuddered and stopped. Then the lights went out.

Well, crap.

"Help!" I yelled, for lack of something better to do. "HELP!"

I can't say I really expected somebody to come get me. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, though. Who used to say that? Ziggy?

There were handrails that ran the permeter of the elevator. I attempted to stand on it. It took me three tries to capture my balance. I felt for the trap door on the ceiling and pushed it open.

Darkness greeted me, grinning at me like a hungry wolf.

I didn't want to venture out into the eerie darkness, but I defiantly didn't want to stay in the elevator with the rotting food, so I hoisted myself out. In the process, I slammed my face into a sneaker.

Muhammad loomed over me. I gulped. He must have thought he could throw me off by not being in his apartment, or the elevator.

That was a clever plan, if the elevator didn't break down.

He screamed a word in Arabic, which I assumed was a cuss word. Then, his shoe made contact with the left side of my face. Everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7: Invasion of the Rock Snatcher

When I woke up, I was alone. I had no clue where I was, but it sounded as though I was on an airplane.

But that couldn't be right, could it?

I wasn't bound, but I was blind just the same. The air around me was blacker than night. No light shone from anything, or from anywhere.

Whatever I was in was definitely moving. I felt the room swerve to the left, then the right, then tip down. There was the unmistakable thud of airplane wheels hitting the ground and my stomach did a little acrobatic flip.

Where was I? Had I been drugged? Who would want to get me on a plane and why?

My thoughts raced to the last memory I had. . . I was in an elevator. I had tried to get out and slammed into Muhammad. He knocked me out and then. . .and then. . .then what?

Then I was here.

A latch was opened to the right of me. Light poured into the room and I recoiled. Forcing myself to look out into the brightness, I caught a glimpse of the desert that lay beyond me.

Oh no! I read about marooning people in the desert! Not good!

Muhammad nimbly jumped in and grabbed me at gunpoint. I would love to say that I reacted with a palm strike in the face and a knee to the groin and knocked him out, then took over the gun along with the plane, but I can't. I stood there, rooted to the spot and let him take me.

I didn't know whether to be happy or sad when I saw a village of white buildings not far away. Muhammad began to lead me to it.

He tugged me every so often to show that he wasn't afraid to hurt me. Never doubted him in the first place, but I ignored it.

We reached the center of the village in no time. The city was surrounded by tall, loaming white towers that were richly Middle Eastern in architecture. The city was one that I had seen before, maybe in an old geography book.

But where was it?

There was a pole in the center of the city. Muhammad threw my back against it and bound me. Then he left.

Mr. Sociability. He should buddy up with Ranger sometime.

A few kids skipped by, throwing rocks at each other. They were wearing white flowey robes.

"Hey kid! Do you have a sharp rock I could use?" I asked him.

The kid looked at me like I sprouted antlers.

"DO. YOU. HAVE. A. SHARP. ROCK," I repeated slowly and loudly as if that would make him understand English.

He said something in Arabic that sounded very rude, then took off his shoe. He obviously tried to aim it for my face, but it pierced the air a good five feet to my left.

"That all you got kid?" I shot at him, mad now.

The kid ran to get his shoe and, on the way back, spat on my sneaker.

"Eww! Gross, kid!"

The kid flipped me the bird. I guess that gesture is pretty international.


	8. Chapter 8: The Horrible Cake Illusions

The sun was beginning to set. I was hungry and tired. I thought about sleeping in my standing position, but knew my neck wouldn't be thanking me in the morning. I had been tugging on my bonds for a while now. My hands were either wet with sweat or blood, I had no clue which.

By nightfall, I finally began to make some progress. I was able to slip my right hand almost out. I was so thankful that he had not used handcuffs.

The night was cold. I had never thought of deserts as cold.

The bonds were off my hands about five hours later. My hands felt raw. I looked down at them.

Sweat _and_ blood. Who would have thought?

I weighed my options. I hadn't really thought about what I was going to do once I was free. I could run into the village and hope that someone helps me.

Yeah. That's likely. That little kid threw his shoe at me. I didn't want to know what the parents would do.

Or I could go and wander aimlessly into the desert.

Definitely the wandering aimlessly plan.

I took off into the desert's cool night air.

The sun had come up. I was starving, I was hot, and I was deeply regretting Diesel not coming with me.

I sat in the sand, burning to a crisp, but not having the strength to get up. I eyed a lizard that came to sit behind me. I saw a Survivor Man episode where he ate a lizard. . .

No! No eating lizards! Not yet anyway. Wait until you are really desperate, Steph.

I hate this! All I want is a nice ice cream cake, but no! No! I have to be stuck in a stupid hot desert where there are no ice cream cakes to be found! Just friggin' lizards!

"Uh, Babe?"

Really, doesn't DQ deliver? It should!

"Cupcake?"

I just wanted some freakn' ice cream cake!

"Hey, Stephanie!"

"Huh?" I looked up. Morelli's hands were on mine, Ranger had his on my face, and Diesel was poking me in the stomach.

It took me a moment to realize that I said all of my ice cream cake thoughts aloud. I think I turned a shade redder than the sun made me.

I sat up.

"You guys are here? You're not one of those illusions are you?"

Ranger looked perfect. His nose had the tiniest of crookedness added to it. If you hadn't known it was broken, you wouldn't have noticed it at all. He looked much stronger, and he could flippin' walk!

Morelli and Diesel didn't even look mad at me, either!

Happy moment.

"Well, orgionally, it was Diesel's plan to come get you. He thought this might happen, see," Morelli explained.

"Uh huh."

"Then Ranger had to get involved and we got in a shouting match," Diesel continued. "One of your neighbors called the cops and the next thing we know, Morelli saw Ranger."

"I figured out why you freaked out on me," Morelli began to finish, "Then we all went after you. No one would stay behind except for Tank, and that's because Manoso ordered him."

Ranger picked me up and began to carry me in his arms. This earned him an if-looks-could-kill look from Morelli, but Joe stayed quiet.

Diesel looked at me. "Did Delad explain to you why you are here?"

"No…?"

"Hajj is only a few days away. Hajj is when Muslims from around the world make the pilgrimage to that city you were in. Mecca."

Oh. I have heard of Mecca. Duh.

"This year," Diesel continued almost bitterly, "Muhammad Delad thought he would impress Mama Delad by blowing you up as a sacrifice."

I looked at the three faces. They were all stone cold. Morelli's cop face infected the other two at last.

"Is. . .that legal? Even here?"

"Of course not!" Diesel told me. "Muhammad thinks you should be happy, though. Happy that you are giving your life for such a noble thing. Muhammad had originally tried to blow himself up to impress Mrs. Delad. You know how that worked."

Ranger was carrying me toward a city. I couldn't see through the heat waves, but it looked like _the _city. My body tensed.

"Don't worry, Babe. That's not Mecca. I have contacts all around the world."

We reached the gates. Ranger said something in Arabic to an Arabic guard. The guard nodded and let us pass.

Ranger, you will never stop surprising me.

The walls were white inside the tiny village. It was only a fraction of the size of Mecca. I had no idea how I had mistaken it.

Ranger led us into a house, which he told us was a safe house.

Joe, just like during the trip to the village, was silent until Ranger put me down. Once he did, he asked me, "You okay, cupcake?"

"Could use some ice cram cake."


	9. Chapter 9: My Elevator Hogging Friend

I slept through the day, and when I woke up, all of my rescuers were gone except for Morelli.

"Ranger was hurt by Asji Ali. Is he connected to Muhammad Delad?" I asked. I took a moment of glory to admire my own cleverness. I usually don't make connections in the morning.

"Yes."

Pause.

"Yes, Muhammad is the brother of Asji," Morelli finished.

"But they have. . ."

"Different names? Yes. Asji Ali used to be Asji Delad, but changed his name. He claimed that he was ashamed of being brothers with Muhammad."

Whoa. Harsh.

I sat up on the bed that I was laying on. It had white cotton sheets and was a twin bed.

"Why was he ashamed?"

"Do you know how many suicide attempts Muhammad has in his past?" Morelli's dark eyes were assertive.

I shook my head.

"_Twelve_. And he failed every one of them."

Another whoa.

"Well, Asji Ali is still alive, so he must have failed his too, right?" I was starting to loose confidence in the reliability of bombs.

"He doesn't attempt. He organizes and takes the credit. Mrs. Delad, the mother, loves Asji. She loves him far more than what Muhammad will ever get from her."

Poor Muhammad. I was starting to feel bad for him.

"Muhammad thinks if he sacrifices you at Hajj, Mrs. Delad will accept him," Morelli shook his head.

I felt bad for Muhammad, but not enough to let him blow me up.

"I was supposed to stay here until you woke up," Morelli told me. "I need to get food. Do you want to come?"

I gazed longingly at the bathroom. There was a shower in there. . .

"Okay," Morelli grinned. "I'll be back soon."

When I stumbled in, I recognized the Ranger soap. Bulgari. I had missed the Ranger soap.

A half an hour later, I stumbled out in a fresh t-shirt and white cotton pants. I supposed Ranger had set the clothes out for me. I didn't exactly get the chance to pack. My hair was still wet, so it was like an air conditioner on my head.

I sauntered into the kitchen and froze in my tracks.

Muhammad.

"I see you escaped alright," he told me. It was the first time I had heard him speak. I expected a dramatic accent, but his was barely there.

I had another clever moment. With a flourish, I had grabbed a huge meat knife off of the counter.

"Peace, friend, I just came to talk."

I didn't lower the knife.

"How did you get in here?" I demanded.

"I'm good at street trade, like pickpocketing. I pickpocketed that American police officer that just came out."

You're a cop, Morelli. You are supposed to see these things.

When silence stretched on, Muhammad finally said, "I am also not a killer."

True. He hasn't killed anyone. Yet.

"I know what you think. Have you heard of the twelve failed missions I went on?" he asked me. He moved a step closer. The knife that was slowly lowering automatically jumped to attention.

I nodded with the knife pointed at his chest. He was too far away to hit. I could try throwing it, but with my luck I would take my own eye out somehow.

"I disabled all of those bombs. I do not believe Allah wants his people dead, mislead as they are or not. If he did, why would he not kill them himself? My people and I have no right to play god."

Terrorist meets peaceful, mellow bunny.

"However," he continued, "this belief has caused my mother to hate me. Though there are others who share my belief, she does not."

"I'm sorry," I didn't know where the apology came from or why I said it. I guess maybe because I knew what it was like to be the least favored child. (Though it was not such an extreme circumstance).

There was a pause. Muhammad looked at the ground. I looked at the knife, then to Muhammad.

I sighed and put it down, though in a place where I could get to it if I needed it.

I finally got a good look at Muhammad Delad. He was a very exotic and handsome man with dark hair that fell into his eyes in almost a child like way. He appeared like he would only come up to Ranger's chest. He looked young, which may have been due to his hair, but he looked like he had seen a lot in his life, too.

"Why did you kidnap me?" I asked finally. "Why did you want to kill me? To impress your mother?" I had been told as much, but I wanted to get the story from him.

Muhammad recoiled as if he had been slapped. "Did you not listen to me? I wasn't going to kill you! And I told you that I am very good at street trade."

"Yeah, so?"

"Street trade includes, eh, what do Americans call them? Magicians?"

I grasped onto what he was saying.

"You want to _act_ like you blew me up, but it only would be a trick?"

"Smart, clever girl."

Why should I trust this guy? He just pickpocket my boyfriend for crissake! He loaded me onto a plane and kidnapped me to Mecca! He wasn't gentle either. Though that may have been because that would have blown his cover. . . but why didn't he tell me? Why didn't he talk to me?

"You are right," Muhammad said, looking into my eyes. "There is no true reason for you to trust me. Please, do though, because if you don't others will die."

He sounded serious. When someone says 'because if you don't other's will die' and sound serious at the same time, it sounds scary.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"My brother made a deal with me. Actually, it was a forced deal because I didn't want any part of it. If I didn't kill one person by the end of Mecca, he would strap a bomb to me, handcuff me so I couldn't disarm it like the others, and drop me off in Times Square.

"What time?" I asked him.

He seemed to ponder this. "Soon, maybe next week. Why?"

As if all of the innocent Times Square people weren't enough! Of all the rotten luck! A week ago, Valerie got a job offer in New York City. She was going next week, and I had no way of contacting her!

I wanted to bang my head on the counter, but assumed that wouldn't look very intimidating.

I didn't trust him, but I couldn't take the chance. This is Valerie we are talking about. Valerie and all of Times Square. "What is your plan?"

I knew this was coming, but it still sounded weird to hear it come out of my mouth. I had to trust him. There was too much at stake.

His plan was an easy one. The bomb he would set off was more or less a smoke bomb that made a loud noise. He would "tie" me up and once the smoke bomb went off, I would have to book it into the nearest house. The houses would all be empty on Mecca, he told me. Then he would set off the big fire bomb. I had to get into the house before the fire bomb, though. That was the only tricky part, but it couldn't be cut out. If his people didn't see fire, they wouldn't believe I was dead, apparently.

What I do for random strangers.

The other tricky part would be getting away from Ranger, Morelli, and Diesel. Especially Diesel, with his stupid mind reading thing. I outsmarted it before, though. . .

Mecca was tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10: Revenge of the Killer Soup

Today was the day. Hajj.

The town was a ghost town. Ranger was still trying to make arrangements to go home. He hung up the phone, frustrated. Evidently, everyone was in Mecca and no one could fly us home. Fine by me. I had a job to do—fake being blown up in front of an entire city. Woo-hoo.

It was Ranger's shift to babysit me and Morelli's and Diesel's shifts to do whatever it is that they were doing.

I glanced at the clock. I had thirty minutes to meet Muhammad by the gate. Otherwise, he said he would come get me. I didn't think this is a good plan, considering how it would go down with Ranger. I am pretty sure he has killed a man before to try to save me. I was also pretty sure that he would kill Muhammad if he knew our plans. Ranger wouldn't trust him.

Me, being Stephanie and not Ranger, did. "I'm going to go out for some fresh air," I informed Ranger. "Be back in a bit."

Alright, dumb excuse. What person who grew up in Jersey cares about fresh air?

"Babe, you're not leaving this house."

Sudden parental expression.

"Why?" I asked. "Everyone's in Mecca. No one saw us come in, and I'd be perfectly safe. . ."

"Babe, no."

There was a pause where we just looked at each other.

"All kinds of love, right?" I inquired.

"All kinds of revenge, too."

I narrowed my eyes at him. So Ranger was just getting back at me for the soup thing, huh? Well, two can play at that game. I had a plan to get out, but it had to be blended into my actions, so to speak. And it involved soup.

I strode off to the kitchen. Four minutes later, after tearing up the kitchen to find a can, I came back with a steaming bowl of Cambell's Chicken Noodle.

It took me a while, considering the label was written in Arabic.

Ranger glared at me. I gave him a little finger wave and sat next to him. I spooned a spoonful into my mouth while glancing at the clock. Twenty minutes. I had twenty minutes.

"Mmmmm," I said. Ranger tried to ignore me. "Want some, Carlos or Ricardo or whatever your first name is?"

This broke out a grin on Ranger's face.

I honestly didn't know if his first name was Carlos or Ricardo, but I knew it was one of the two.

"Pass, Babe."

"Oh, come on," I prodded. I lifted up a heaping spoonful of noodles.

"I had enough soup in your care to last me a lifetime, Babe," he promised me.

"One little tinsy bite! It would make me really happy."

Ranger sighed. He took the spoon and ate the contents. He didn't look happy about it either.

"Maybe you would like it better if—I just thought of something! There is this amazing Arabic cheese in the fridge. I bet it would melt into the soup and taste great!" I told him enthusiastically.

He shook his head as if to say, 'poor Stephanie. Always thinking about food.'

Just what I wanted him to think. I was so glad I just had to get away from Ranger and not Diesel, even if Morelli would have been my first choice. He would have really been easy to outfox.

I took off toward the kitchen. There was a window above the sink. I opened the fridge.

"Could you turn on the news, please?"

"It's in Arabic, Babe."

"Please?"

An Arabic voice filled the room. I shut the fridge, and tenderly opened the window. Ranger didn't hear me. I slipped out and landed ankle-deep in sand.

Ha. I just outsmarted Batman!


	11. Chapter 11: The Double Hjiijiyque Save

You know that horrible, wheezing, revolting, and possibly lightheaded feeling you get when something bad is about to happen?

As soon as I left the safe house, that feeling hit me. It hit me hard.

Feeling like an idiot, I dashed around buildings secret-agent-style. Two minutes later after my precautions, I arrived to one side of the gate.

Whoa. Didn't think I would get this far, honestly. I am better than I thought. I guess hanging around Ranger all this time helped me after all.

The gates were tall and, like the rest of the city, white stone to keep cool. The guards were nowhere to be seen. They must have booked it to Mecca like the rest of the village.

I began to slip out of the left-open-and-unguarded entrance when I spotted Muhammad. Muhammad wasn't alone.

Asji was there. Asji. _The_ Asji. The Asji who outsmarted _Ranger_. Sure, I had just outsmarted Ranger, but that was different. He actually trusted _me._

Asji was a couple of inches taller than him and his face looked dominant. He looked like he knew this too. I could definitely see the resemblance between the two brothers, though side by side, Muhammad looked humble and Asji looked arrogant.

They were talking in hushed whispers. Muhammad's eyes were wide and he looked as though he had just swallowed a huge, disgusting bug. Asji looked totally in control. I could not make out one word that they were saying.

I didn't think it was best to be seen by Asji, so I waited behind the gate.

"Babe!" came a rushed whisper. Ranger was beside me. I was surprised he didn't phase-change into liquid in the black clothes he was wearing.

Crap. I blame Asji.

I forced myself to met his eyes. They were like little coal black flames as they burnt into mine. He was angry. Heck, he was freakn' fuming. If the climate was colder, I would probably see steam seeping through his ears.

I gave him my little finger wave.

Yeah, bad call there, Steph.

He grabbed the wrist that I had raised in an impressive swoop and began towing me back to the save house. I dug my heels in rebelliously.

"Ranger! Stop it! Ranger!"

He turned back toward me. There was a period of about five seconds when we just glared at each other, willing each other to back down.

Needless to say, we were both too stubborn to back down. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out in a blur.

He tugged me forward and I felt the cold clink of something snap onto the wrist he held.

Handcuffs. Great. Swell. Magnificent.

Who did he think he was? He has no right to restrain me! He's not a cop, not that Morelli would have a right, either. What did he think this was? 100 A.D? Women have freakn' rights too!

My blood boiled under my skin, more so than what the hot weather did to it. I narrowed my eyes. This wasn't going to be a war. This was going to be a full-out flippn' arm's race!

"Ranger, if you don't let me go right now, as soon as we get back to America, I swear, I will file a report against you."

Empty words. Felt good to say them, though.

"I'll take my chances," Ranger mused. We both knew that he had enough contacts to erase the filed report completely.

Stupid contacts.

"I believe that I need to help Muhammad."

"What?" He had the all-out puzzled look on his face that he so rarely had. I forgot he didn't know about Muhammad's plan for a minute there. "Look, whatever it is, you should probably _stop _believing it right n—."

I grunted a grunt of irritation, interrupting his safety lecture. "You know what? What I _believe_ is what makes me _strong!_ Just like how Muhammad believes in peace is how he gets through hislife! I don't _care_ that I am 5'6", and you are 6' whatever! I don't care that you eat health food and exercise and I don't! I am still stronger that you. You know why? Because I believe in it. And you know something else? You have no right to handcuff me. You _don't own me!"_

Ok, I hadn't meant for that to go into a rant about believing in what you think is right and whatnot. I just couldn't stop myself.

Ranger looked like a deer that had just been hit by a truck.

Muhammad came up behind me.

"I am starting to like you more. That was very impressive."

Ranger went for his gun but found his holster empty. Muhammad gently swung Ranger's gun around on his index finger, looking pleased with himself.

"They just don't have as good of thieves in America, I guess," I shrugged while saying this to Ranger.

Seeing his gun gone, Ranger went into his deer mode again. I didn't blame him. _I_ hadn't even seen Muhammad pickpocket him and he wasn't hiding from me. I had never seen Ranger in his deer mode before, and now I saw him in it two times in the past minute.

Go figure.

Ranger looked like he was weighing his options. Muhammad wasn't a big guy. He could probably take him down. . .

Seeing his intent register in his eyes, I yelled, "No! No fighting! We should all just be fr—."

Yeah, too late.

Ranger lunged for Muhammad and Muhammad easily sidestepped while tripping him. Ranger landed in the sand. He went down like a sack of flour, might I add.

"How. . .what. . .?" Ranger doesn't go down like a sack of flour every day. Or every lifetime.

The only response I got was a bitter, "Asji is better," from Muhammad.

I shivered at the words. I knelt by Ranger. He was out cold. How he got out cold by falling into sand I couldn't tell.

"What did you do to him?" I demanded, choking back a sob. I didn't want Ranger hurt because of me.

"Not let him hit me?"

"Ugh! Help me get him inside."

Muhammad was stronger than he looked. He almost carried Ranger, someone of whom Muhammad only came up to his chest, singlehandedly back to the safe house. We deposited him onto the couch.

"It wears off in ten minutes. We must move fast."

"What does?" I asked, stupidly.

Muhammad turned to me like I had asked what the color red looked like. "The powdered drug I threw into his face?"

"Oh, right, that," because I _totally_ saw that happen. Yep, that's me. Ms. Observant. Seeing things the average human can't.

Muhammad and I loaded ourselves and our tricks into a Jeep that I suppose is his. Seconds later, we were kicking up a sandstorm as we raced across the dunes.

I had covered more ground than I had thought. It took us a full ten minutes to get to Mecca, even on full speed ahead mode. We didn't talk on the ride there. It was too loud with the revving engine.

"May I?" Muhammad asked as we parked around the gates. He was holding up some ropes.

He froze when he saw the handcuff that Ranger had slipped on me. "Forgot about that. Hold on a minute."

Muhammad dug into a black bag that was resting next to him. He pulled out a little bottle with a cork and some redish-brownish liquid. He opened it.

"Hold still, if you value your skin."

Well, this sounded pleasant.

A drop hit the metal of the cuff and made a loud _ssssst! _The liquid ate right through the cuff. I didn't want to think about what would have happened if it landed on my skin.

"Hjiijiyque. Some use it as poison. Tears you up from the inside. It can melt anything."

I slipped my hand through the opening in the metal, than let him bind me.

"Can you get loose?" he inquired.

"Sure." I twisted my arms the way he taught me and the ropes fell off.

He smiled and rebound me, as if proud that I was becoming a trickster like him.

We marched through the familiar towers that seemed to stand guard over the city. Muhammad tied me to the same stake that what seemed like so long ago, I escaped from.

I thought about my wrists. They were horribly bloody and torn when the guys found me. Ranger had cared for me and now the skin was almost completely healed. Some great way to repay him, Steph. Sneak out with a possible terrorist, and, in the process, get him knocked out with a powdered drug.

He was just trying to protect me. . .

I bit my lip in guilt.

"Okay, you know what to do?" Muhammad asked me.

I looked up at him and opened my mouth to say 'yes'. The 'yes' never came, though. I clamped my mouth shut and froze at the sight of Asji behind Muhammad.

"Afraid, little rabbit?" unlike Muhammad, Asji had a _very_ thick accent.

Muhammad jumped and whirled around. They bantered about in Arabic. I tried to look terrified, but it wasn't hard. Asji was _really_ scary up close. Something was wrong with his eyes. They crossed at odd angles at odd times, and one appeared to be dead. He was a head and a half taller than Muhammad. Other than his creepy eyes, he was as handsome as his little brother.

He set his livid eyes on me. "I can't wait for you to take your first life in the name of Allah. You will truly become my brother today."

Muhammad looked as though he had never heard such a disgusting suggestion, but hid it from Asji. I felt relieved. It seemed like Muhammad was really on my side.

"We should make it _really _interesting, though," Asji continued. He whipped out a pair of cuffs.

Oh no. I could get out of the ropes. I had been taught how to do that. I couldn't get out of cuffs.

Gulp.

"Brother, is that necessary?" Muhammad kept his voice smooth, but his eyes sang a different song.

"Of course, brother."

I kind of wished that they had had their little conversation in Arabic so that I wasn't flipping out and having my doubts right now.

Asji rounded the stake and gently clipped a handcuff on. I recoiled from his touch. Despite the hot climate, his hands were stone cold.

This is the man that hurt Ranger so much. On one hand, I wanted to break Asji's nose worse than Ranger's was broken. On the other, he was _really_ scary. He just had a feeling about him.

With a snap, the other clipped on my wrist, also.

Asji stalked off into the crowd without another word.

I looked at Muhammad, expectantly. He sauntered over to me and leaned in.

"Hide this in your ropes."His lips were at my ear.

He pressed a small bottle into my hands. Hjiijiyque.


	12. Chapter 12: The Art of Chop Chop

Everyone gets nervous in their lives. It is a natural occurrence. However, most people get nervous about a piano recital, or a test, a date, or a new job.

I'm not so lucky.

I was strapped to a stake in the middle of Mecca during Hajj with a family of terrorists watching me in anticipation. Beyond them, there was a sea of white robes. Evidently everyone wore white robes to Hajj. Mine was in the nearest house so I could slip away. My friend, Muhammad, mouthed the words to me, "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

I nodded, choking back a sob. This was for Valerie and Times Square. The world needed terrorists that believed in peace, so it was for Muhammad too.

He attentively placed a box with a fuse on the ground in front of me.

I gulped. I think a few tears escaped me, but I was too terrified to notice.

Muhammad lit the fuse and backed off. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the worst.

Nothing happened.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Muhammad looked shocked. I guess this was the one time he didn't disarm the bomb.

His family glared at him with hatred.

"Bombs don't like you very much, do they?" Asji was talking in English, I'm sure, so that I could hear the conversation. He didn't even try to look surprised.

This earned him a glare from Muhammad.

"Lucky for you, little brother, I have one on hand," Asji produced a larger and more menacing bomb. Uh-oh. That is _defiantly_ not a smoke bomb.

I processed this. It was Asji. Asji didn't trust Muhammad and decided to take matters into his own hands. He meant for this to happen. It was _Asji_ who disarmed the bomb. . .

"Well, chop chop," Asji smirked.

Muhammad's hands were shaking as he lit the bomb. He gave me a look that clearly said, "GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT OF HERE AND FAST!"

I popped open the bottle and dumped some of it out. I couldn't see behind me. I was shooting in the dark.

I felt the liquid scorch my hands. It was unlike any pain I had ever felt. It was ice—burning ice.

I heard the thump of metal in my hands. It is amazing how sharp your senses get when you are chuck full of fear.

The ropes fell away and I booked it toward the gate. Mecca watched me with the same deer-hit-by-truck look that Ranger had.

I ran into a wall. A wall named Diesel.

There was a lot of yelling and people's footsteps coming closer.

"Close your eyes and hang on!" Diesel yelled.

I did and pressed myself into his chest. The screaming was getting louder.

Diesel, do something!

They were almost upon us. I could feel the thunder of the footsteps—we were gonners. The screaming stopped abruptly. I was almost too afraid to look.

Almost.

I unraveled myself from Diesel's protective arms and looked around. We weren't in Mecca anymore. We were back in the village. . .

Nothing surprises me about Diesel anymore.

"Cupcake!" and "Babe!" were shouted at the same time and I felt two extra bodies smushing me against Diesel.


	13. Chapter 13: Headfirst Dive into Yellfest

"Babe, if you ever do that to me again, you die," Ranger told me, but he had a smile on his face ever since I had returned in one piece.

"I didn't do anything! Muhammad drugged you!"

"Babe."

"Don't worry, I'll never try anything like that again," I vowed. I didn't know if my vow was entirely true, though.

Morelli was on his laptop, trying to find a flight back and Diesel was watching TV. I guess he knew Arabic, or he was a good actor.

Ranger took his keys off the desk and began to head out the door. Morelli and Diesel paid him no mind.

"Where do you think you're going?" I asked.

Ranger didn't answer. He just smiled a 100 watt smile and left.

It was night outside and the stars were unlike anything in New Jersey. They were bright and clear and it looked like I could see the entire galaxy. The full moon shone out like an eye into heaven.

"Good night, Cupcake," Morelli told me, kissing me on my forehead. He headed to the upper floor.

The house had four bedrooms. One for each of us. The guy's rooms were all upstairs and mine was on the first floor.

I smiled and bade him good night back. Morelli shut off his laptop and clamored up the stairs. He was soon followed by Diesel.

Where was Ranger going? I thought about him as I ate a peanut butter and olive sandwich. I took a glance out the window. The village still wasn't back from Mecca. I've heard it would be another four or five days.

I allowed myself to fall into bed. As soon as my hair touched the pillow, I was asleep. I guess it is exhausting, almost getting blown up and all.

Three days passed without incident. Ranger left every night on those three days to I-have-no-clue-where. Muhammad didn't come to see me. I hoped he was okay. I liked Muhammad a lot.

I carried around the bottle of hjiijiyque, in case he showed up. I'm sure that this stuff is valuable and Muhammad would want the rest back. There was still two thirds of a bottle left.

On the forth day of Hajj, I made up my mind. I had to know where Ranger kept going. I was a Burg girl—I had to get the dirt.

I dressed in dark colors and loaded my pockets in my cargo pants with my stun gun, pepper spray, my real gun, and the hjiijiyque. Ranger had brought them with him. I didn't know how he got a hold of them, considering Muhammad had probably left it in the elevator. They were all on me except for the gun when I was kidnapped. The gun was in my cookie jar.

Morelli and Diesel went to bed as usual. It was not hard to sneak out the window over the sink again. I was afraid of using the door—they might hear it and wake up.

Ranger was just leaving. He took a Jeep not unlike the one Muhammad had only it was, of course, black.

I didn't really plan out how I was going to follow him. In a split second decision, I knew I had one option.

I jumped onto the back ledge of the Jeep and held on for dear life as Ranger speed off into the starry night.

After ten minutes of riding, Ranger parked in front of Mecca. I followed him into the city gates, surprised he hadn't seen me yet. That's me. I'm beginning to become Ms. Sneak.

Lights shone from buildings, bright against the night sky, but there was no one on the streets. The complete opposite of Jersey.

Ranger turned right, then left, then another right, mazing his way through Mecca. I followed a couple of buildings behind. He turned and entered a more modern looking building than the rest.

I entered after him. I saw him disappear behind two mahogany doors to the right of the entrance.

I slipped inside. The man at the desk didn't look up. I was thankful. I was positive that everyone in the city would recognize me after what happened the other day. I shivered, just remembering it.

I have wrestled with a guy covered in Vaseline, owned a dog that could eat a stapler, brought people in for things like holding up chip trucks with nail files, and I have blown various cars, not all of them mine. In other words, I have had a pretty strange life. However, almost getting blown up by a terrorist after making a deal with his brother, and having an entire city of worshippers chase after me kinda took the taco.

I very carefully opened the wooden doors. No one was in the conference room.

I looked for a door and quickly located the one Ranger must have passed through. It was locked.

I turned to leave, disappointed, but found that the door I had just come through locked me in.

I wished I could pick locks like Ranger or Morelli, or better yet, just materialize somewhere like Diesel. That would come in so useful right now.

So I was trapped in a room. It wasn't that bad. It was a pretty flippin' nice room too, I told myself, trying to go with positive reinforcement. The carpet was a deep wine red that matched the fabric on the twenty chairs seated around the big, circular mahogany wood desk. The walls were a tasteful beige.

I sat there for five minutes, twirling around in a chair. I finally decided that admiring the room with my positive reinforcement wasn't going to get me out, and dying at the hands of someone who finds me would be better than if Ranger came out and saw that I had followed him. He'd lock me up and throw away the key. Literally.

I looked around. No windows. One air duct.

The air duct.

I took off the vent easily. It wasn't screwed on all the way. It was a large air duct, large enough to fit me.

Well, just sitting here isn't getting me out of here.

I entered head-first into the duct. As I crawled, I pulled the vent closed after me. Ranger was not going to catch me, that I was determined.

I crawled very slowly to avoid making a clamor. I heard voices to my right. I followed them.

It was Ranger and Asji. Ranger was tied up.

I placed my hand over my mouth to resist calling his name.

"So, Manoso, I see that you thought that you could take me on your own."

I was so glad that they were talking in English I almost cried.

Ranger stiffened, but didn't say anything.

"You see, I would have thought that you would have noticed how highly trained we are, Muhammad the pig, and I. You see, our father was very clever. He made his own fighting style, his own martial art, his own philosophy. We have been trained in something so different from yours, that we can beat you easily," Asji had his creepy dead eye spinning in pride.

I had to get help. I was glued to the spot though. It was like I had roots and they grew into the metal duct.

"So that dancing was actually fighting?" Ranger asked him.

Asji slapped his face. Hard.

I uprooted and snuck back. I had to find help. I turned right, then left, than right again. I almost fell through a hole in the duct.

I looked down. The vent was removed and setting on the ground. I was looking into a kitchen. Right under me was a cook bending over a cauldron of soup. I froze until he turned and left to get some ingredient. I crawled over the hole.

Under me, I heard a plop. I turned to stone—was the cook back again? Please don't look up!

I snuck a peek down. He wasn't there, but the soup was disturbed. Maybe he just came and put something in really quick?

Strange, I thought, than passed.

I kept going. Dead end.

I turned back and was cautious as I slipped past the cook. I followed the loud voices back to Ranger and Asji.

"And I'm going to keep your little girlfriend with me, too!" Asji shot.

Great. Why do the bad guys always want to take _me?_

"You touch her and you won't have any hands to touch her with, anymore!" Ranger's face turned red.

I didn't see Ranger loose his cool much. At least, not until the past couple days.

"I think I'll go get her now. I'll have her, and you will watch. How does that sound?" Asji smirked. "I'll have a bite to eat before though. I'm never my best hungry. Then I'll be able to work off the food."

Ranger looked like he wanted to rip out his tongue then blow the rest of him into orbit.

Asji left the room, with the same dumb grin on his face. He obviously wanted to make Ranger suffer, but I didn't know why.

As soon as I heard the door lock behind him, I pushed out the vent I was watching through. Ranger jumped and turned around. He had a black eye.

"Are you okay?" my voice sounded like a demand.

I thanked everything that he was only bound in ropes. I rushed around him and started to work on his hands that were bound behind his back.

Ranger twisted his head around to look at me and grinned. "Babe."


	14. Chapter 14: Bellyaching Soup

I taught him the way that Muhammad taught me to get out of ropes.

"You followed me," It wasn't a question.

I nodded.

"Babe."

He pulled me to him, his face inches from mine. We heard to door open.

We jumped apart, en guard. We were surprised when Asji stumbled in, basically crawling. He looked from each face, and his lips formed unintelligible words. His face was a pasty white, despite his usually tan look. Blood seeped through his white robe and covered his stomach.

Ranger zoomed over to his side and pulled up Asji's shirt. There was a gaping hole in his stomach and it was growing larger.

I froze.

My hand zipped into my pocket where I had placed the hjiijiyque for safe keeping. I was greeted by a gaping hole.

Well, I know what that plop was, now.

I felt sick. I looked away from the growing hole. Ranger wrapped me in his arms and pressed my face into his chest so I didn't have to watch.

"Something you want to tell me, Babe?"

"I think this kinda maybe might accidentally be my fault."

"Oh?"

I told him everything I knew about the hjiijiyque and how I had come across it. I also told him about the plop in the soup.

"We have to make sure no one else eats that soup," he ruffled my hair and dragged me toward the door. I almost vomited when I had to step over Asji. His lifeless eyes stared up at me. The dead eye still looked deader than the other, even in death.

Stiva could go to town on this guy. Too bad I had to run him down with Big Blue.

Ranger seemed to know this place well. We reached the kitchen. The soup was being dumped out by the cook.

Ranger and the cook exchanged banter in Arabic, then Ranger said to me, "he set to throwing it out as soon as he saw Asji acting up."

Woo-hoo. I only killed one person.

"It wasn't your fault," Ranger told me.

Stupid ESP.

"Stephanie!" Muhammad stood in the doorway.

Well. Where did you come from?

"Someone poisoned Asji! You know what that means?" Muhammad was jumping up and down like an excited little kid. "No Times Square bombing!"

"Way to go, Babe," Ranger congratulated.

Muhammad seemed to register this. "You?"

"It wasn't my fault!" I defended. "It was an accident!"

Nothing I said could keep them smirking like idiots.

Hajj ended yesterday and the pilots were back on. Ranger scheduled us a flight home that was lifting off in ten minutes.

We stood by in the sand with all of our luggage. At least, Morelli, Ranger, and I did. Diesel hightailed it out of here an hour ago.

"Steph!"

Muhammad came running up behind me. His Jeep was parked not far away. "I will miss you, clever girl."

I smirked, "you too, street thug."

He grinned back then hugged me. I wasn't much of a hugger, but I put up with it for Muhammad. He is a likable guy.

He kissed me on the lips, then got back in his Jeep and drove off, kicking up sand as he went.

I turned to Morelli and Ranger. They stood there like idiots, both of their mouths slightly open. Deer mode was stamped on their foreheads.

The private plane began boarding. Yep. Hajj is a holiday worth celebrating.

HAPPY HAJJ FROM STEPHANIE PLUM!


End file.
